


i've come to expect everything and nothing

by mangozaya



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Bang Chan, Childhood Friends, Dissociation, Established Relationship, Implied cockwarming, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Recreational Drug Use, Top Yang Jeongin | I.N, chan owns mango lube, jeongin is a slightly unreliable narrator, pillow humping, they take a soft bath together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:34:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27666164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangozaya/pseuds/mangozaya
Summary: On nights like those, where Jeongin is sleepy and warm-pressed into the sheets of Chan’s bed, roused only when Chan finally makes his way to curl around Jeongin and turn out the lights, Jeongin smiles into the dip of Chan’s shoulder and ghosts a kiss along the base of his neck.(He’s in love, and he’ll whisper it against the shell of Chan’s ear, for only the two of them to know.)
Relationships: Bang Chan/Yang Jeongin | I.N
Comments: 12
Kudos: 138
Collections: Div's Favorites





	i've come to expect everything and nothing

Tuesdays nights behind the dumpster of a round-the-clock Walmart is hardly the place to knock back a plastic bottle of old vodka, but Jeongin’s got a shitty group of drinking buddies and twenty dollars to his name—he’s fresh out of all other options.

It helps that Seungmin’s got an endless credit card balance and only moderate self-preservation, and Jeongin’s not above using their loose friendship to his advantage. He doesn’t care enough to offer his own stash to others, so instead he cheats his way to cheap booze and half-decent company. These simple reasons bring Jeongin back to Seungmin’s peripheral for nights where he doesn’t go home until the early hours of morning, and he finds himself half-baked on a weekly basis with an equally stoned Hyunjin.

It’s nice. Entirely mind-numbing and not enough for Jeongin’s social quota, but something close to being _nice_.

He thumbs the smooth ridges of the glass beer bottle resting between his thighs—the cold condensation sending shivers down the length of his legs, an uncomfortable sensation with the heat of a clanging vent just to his left, but somehow this cold bottle grounds his headspace to one that acknowledges the two people before him—a subdued Seungmin, rolling what’s left of his half-charred joint between the pull of his incisors, and a Hyunjin.

Just a Hyunjin. Jeongin still doesn’t know what to make of him, so he opts to take a swig of his plastic water bottle instead.

He grimaces at the sting of alcohol staining his chapped lips, and barely manages to not bite down harshly on his tongue as Hyunjin knocks against him, stumbling out of nowhere just to crumple to the ground beneath where Jeongin’s perched on the edge of the dumpster—Jeongin wildly thinks for a moment that he wants to pour what’s left of his alcohol over Hyunjin’s fading blonde hair, but he bites down the urge a moment later, and just kicks his foot aimlessly forward, knocking it back against the seedy dumpster with a resounding _clang_. Hyunjin groans from below.

He’s in a weird, hazy mood tonight, and their ride is twenty minutes late. Jeongin’s going to be stone sober before they even reach their choice of party for tonight.

He’s close to falling asleep against the dumpster, no matter how questionably sticky the sides of the metal are, rusted and orange in the low yellow of the streetlights. Jeongin exhales slowly, watching his breath cloud up the air before him, and swipes across his phone cautiously, slipping between two contacts: their ride to the dingy frat party, and another number.

Chan.

It’s unfortunate really, that Chan is busy tonight with a string of exams in the next coming days, otherwise Jeongin wouldn’t have even bothered coming out.

(He’s fucking lonely; sue him.)

He doesn’t have to make an appearance at the frat house, much less does Seungmin and Hyunjin, but Hyunjin’s senior had sent a personal invite their way, and Seungmin has a new supply of sugar cookies infused with THC. Far too classy for a Walmart parking lot, but Jeongin doesn’t care where he gets his fix, only that it comes free. He has another, curiously strong urge to fall backwards into the black bags of trash below him, but he distantly recognizes that a dumpster may not make the best of resting spots. He bites his tongue and tries not to think of Chan. He fails miserably, finding it funny that he’s trying to pretend he isn’t.

Chan’s a wonder. Doey-eyed and dimpled, smile warmer and brighter than the spark from Seungmin’s lighter as the latter wordlessly puffs from his poorly rolled blunt. An offered smile and shoulder for comfort is natural for Chan, and that’s just who Chan is, under slightly rose-tinted glasses.

Jeongin’s Chan is a bit different.

It’s not that Chan isn’t lovely—Jeongin will only admit this late at night, nestled in the warmth of Chan’s arms when they drift off to sleep, but it doesn’t make Chan’s appeal any less obvious. Chan’s got endless patience to a fault, scolding Jeongin only when his red-rimmed eyes are too visible to pass off as poor sleep in the hallways before class. Chan’s got his own short temper, the worst of which meant he ignored Jeongin for a week before they finally came together, harsh words melting into apologies melting into the tightest embrace that left Jeongin secure. When Chan’s nervous, he bites down on his plush lower lip far more than is necessary, and his kisses taste like copper when Jeongin tries to soothe even the slightest of anxiety from his stiff shoulders. Chan can’t offer Jeongin the full attention he craves, because music production means endless hours holed up in a studio without contact, but sometimes Chan allows Jeongin into his recording space, and it’s not something Jeongin takes for granted.

Chan doesn’t follow Jeongin to any of his dim-lit basement parties, doesn’t say one word about Jeongin’s questionable choice in acquaintances, but there’s not an ounce of judgement; he simply goes along with most of Jeongin’s antics, and picks up the phone every time he inevitably gets a call from Jeongin nearing the early hours of the morning. Jeongin will whine into the phone about not wanting to pay for an Uber, and Chan will sigh into the receiver—not unkindly, and with far more endearment that Jeongin feels like he deserves.

Chan doesn’t just wait outside the car for Jeongin; he’ll slip into the chaos of warm bodies, most likely finding Jeongin passed out on a couch alongside Seungmin, and allows a swaying Jeongin to lean heavily again his hip as he maneuvers through the choice of weekend party, always getting Jeongin home safely with a kiss to his forehead and breakfast the next morning.

It helps that Chan’s the one person he trusts most in this world; and it only makes sense, given their two decades of friendship and two more years of admitting that there had always been something more.

When Jeongin’s mother coos about his _perfect gentleman of a boyfriend_ , Jeongin often tries to melt into the floor of his kitchen tiles. He’ll grumble and tuck his chin into the hood of his sweatshirt, but Chan will catch his eye with a beaming smile, and Jeongin’s cheeks grow heated and rosy.

They’re in entirely different circles, their only connection being Felix as a common overlap, yet Chan stays steady by Jeongin’s side, and on dull nights like this, Jeongin would give anything to substitute his drinking crowd for a space in Chan’s bed, watching on as Chan quietly studies at his desk by his filtered nightlight.

On nights like those, where Jeongin is sleepy and warm-pressed into the sheets of Chan’s bed, roused only when Chan finally makes his way to curl around Jeongin and turn out the lights, Jeongin smiles into the dip of Chan’s shoulder and ghosts a kiss along the base of his neck.

(He’s in love, and he’ll whisper it against the shell of Chan’s ear, for only the two of them to know.)

✰

He ends up going to the party anyway, because Seungmin promises they’ll dip in an hour, and Jeongin’s got time to kill before Chan frees up for the night.

Ten minutes in, and he realizes he might be entirely out of his depth. He’s been glancing around lazily, but doesn’t catch the eye of anyone he knows save for Seungmin and Hyunjin, and the red plastic cup in his hands is still as full as when he arrived.

Thirty minutes passes, and Jeongin’s blindly slumped against another person on a worn couch, not needing to talk before understanding a mutual, “Hey, you were dragged here too?”

Jeongin catches the stranger’s eye once more throughout the night in mutual amusement, and snorts into his palm when a distant pool table flattens to the ground under close to fifteen bodies lounging on its weight. There’s a general commotion, and the stranger rises to find his friends, slapping Jeongin on the shoulder in a friendly goodbye. Jeongin raises a lazy hand in turn, and shuffles properly to stretch his legs out, lounging out again.

Things get a bit muddled from there.

Jeongin’s sure he found his way into the kitchen at some point, searching for water and anything to curb the slight hunger pangs in his stomach, but he could have just as easily been on the couch the entire time and not known the difference. His tongue is heavy in his mouth every time he wants to call out for Seungmin to just _drive him to Chan’s already_ , and he can feel himself slumping down, further against the cushions of the couch, uncomfortable against the sticky material clinging to his back, melting into the—

“You’ve outdone yourself tonight, haven’t you?”

It’s a layered taunt, one that Jeongin isn’t too far gone to recognize, and he grinds his teeth against the inside of one cheek. Jeongin _hates_ Hyunjin’s voice, and tells Hyunjin as much, but Hyunjin doesn’t let up, snipping another comment.

“I’m not the one pissed against a couch, sue me.”

“Hyunjin, _shut up_.” From somewhere behind him, Seungmin’s voice floats in, and Jeongin gratefully wants to slip right in between the folds of the couch and sleep for a while. He’s an idiot for thinking he’d be granted such liberty. He’s given a few moments before he’s seized up roughly, and finds himself hunched around Seungmin’s shoulder.

“I’m getting you to Chan’s, can you two keep out of each other’s hair for a moment?”

Hyunjin mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘ _he_ _started it’_ , and Jeongin’s shoulders square to take in Hyunjin’s sneer. Jeongin shoves uselessly against Seungmin, bumping into his chin and earning a hiss in return.

“I’m walking home, don’t bother following me.” Jeongin snips, and Hyunjin’s mouth twists.

Seungmin narrows his eyes and doesn’t let go of Jeongin. “That’s cute and all, but you’re going to sit still until we get you to Chan’s.”

“ _You_ don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Jesus _c_ _hrist_ , Jeongin.” Hyunjin interrupts from Seungmin’s other side.

It’s effort, the need to hold himself together so that the burn in his temple doesn’t slip into a proper migraine, but Jeongin’s patience is wired far too thin, and it takes everything in him to not shove Seungmin properly aside.

“I’m calling Chan, he’s coming to get me.”

Seungmin’s eyes are fiery as he turns to Jeongin, arm still supporting him but shoulder tensing where it’s tucked under Jeongin’s elbow. “Why don’t you listen to people who are trying to _care_ for you?”

It’s as close to a slap in the face as Jeongin’s going to get.

“Oh, so you care about me _now_?”

“ _Fuck_ , Jeongin. You just-” Seungmin just sounds defeated, and Jeongin grows angrier, “I’m just never going to get through to you.”

Jeongin’s not hearing it, all he sees is red; he slips his arm and regains his balance from Seungmin, harshly stumbling back, reaching blinding into his pockets to find his phone. He misses twice, finally grabs a hold of it to call Chan, but another hand is brought into his peripheral before he can thumb through his contacts. Hyunjin’s chewing his lip and holding out his own phone, motioning it to Jeongin, and an unsaved contact flashes across the screen.

Jeongin knows Chan’s number by heart. He snatches the phone and lifts it to his ear, and Hyunjin’s pearl phone case catches on the sleeve of his sweater. He wants to make himself heard against the backdrop of pounding music and incessant chatter, but he’s far too fuzzy to understand the volume of his own words.

Jeongin barely recognizes his voice, and slurs a quiet, “I think I fucking miss you.”

Jeongin hears papers shuffle carelessly on the other end of the line, and he holds his breath. Jeongin presses his phone harshly against his ears, as if it might bring Chan closer.

“I take it’s my turn to steal you?” Comes across the line, and Jeongin instantly relaxes, his stance growing slack.

“Hyunjin isn’t letting me drive, so I’m _never_ going to see you.”

“Dramatic.” Chan’s teasing tone is as light as a feather, and Jeongin melts further into his voice.

At this moment, it doesn’t matter that this is Hyunjin’s phone, and that Seungmin stands a foot away, no doubt wishing that Jeongin could just sober up and get himself away from the party. It’s probably all in his head, but Chan’s voice is impossibly warm, and Jeongin’s a bit embarrassed with how Chan can still make him feel shy after all these years.

Jeongin hums into the line, and allows Chan’s voice to carry him home.

✰

Hyunjin catches a ride with a senior, leaving Seungmin to drive Jeongin home alone, and a suffocating silence falls between them both as the car hums steadily on the highway. Jeongin wants to nod off, but his brain is crawling, and his bottom lip is dangerously close to being bitten raw as acid drips to the pit of his stomach, curling and folding into unmanageable knots.

He doesn’t even notice he’s shivering until he wakes up minutes later, his chin tucked underneath his seatbelt and arm positioned awkwardly against the chill of the car window.

Seungmin’s _we’re here_ is swallowed up by Jeongin’s door being clicked open, and he’s face-to-face with a dewy-eyed Chan, who is quickly blinking sleep from his eyes as he levels with Jeongin, nodding quickly to Seungmin as a thanks.

“Come on up, let’s get you inside, I’m half frozen as it is.”

Kindness. All of Chan’s quips and jokes melt away to _kindness_ , and Jeongin allows himself to fall forward, encircling Chan’s waist in a whine, rubbing his hair into Chan’s hoodie as the built-up static shocks Chan’s stomach.

“I think Seungmin needs to head back, can you hold onto me?”

Jeongin clings to Chan and doesn’t budge. Somewhere in his mind, he recognizes that while he wants to go up to Chan’s apartment, he also _really_ wants to piss Seungmin off by staying in the passenger seat, so he waits it out, waits for Chan to nudge into the car and safely secure his shoulder and waist to drag him up and—

“Our hot chocolate is cooling down, so please?”

Jeongin is a weak, _weak_ man.

He allows himself to be lifted from the car with no struggle, and wordlessly turns his chin to hide in the warmth of Chan’s neck, red from where the cold is biting them both. He’s colder than he realizes, and he knows Chan can feel him shiver through their thin layers.

It’s a quick succession of steps from there: Chan drags Jeongin up to his apartment with only minor difficulty on account of Jeongin refusing to unlatch from around his neck, and Chan opts for a piggyback instead. Chan runs a bath as Jeongin kicks his feet by the side of the tub, slightly bubbly and as warm as Jeongin likes it, and he sinks into the steam with a contented sigh. His high is wearing down, nearly gone with the wisps of heat, and Chan slips in behind him, tugging his closer and hooking his chin to Jeongin’s blushed shoulder. Jeongin melts against Chan easily, letting the flow of water shift gently between them.

“Jeongin.”

Chan’s voice is quiet, softer than the rush of the water from where Jeongin mindlessly grazes his fingertips across the surface of their bath, and he curls into himself at hearing his full name—Chan means nothing by it, but Jeongin’s alcohol-fueled haze doesn’t know a difference, and Chan immediately recognizes his mistake.

“Oh, _baby_ , I’m not upset with you, just–” Chan tries again, this time weaving an arm around the curve of Jeongin’s hip, and draws his boyfriend back carefully against his chest, “–Innie, are you okay?”

Short, sweet, to the point. Chan is really too good to him, and Jeongin feels his eyes burn in an effort not to spill over. He goes for a tight lipped nod, knocking lightly against Chan’s chin.

“You let them drive me home?” It’s barely a whisper from Jeongin, and Chan gently rests his cheek against the hunch of Jeongin’s spine from where they’re slightly cramped in the smaller space. Chan doesn’t miss the casual _home_ from Jeongin, how second-nature the term has been coined for Chan’s apartment, and his heart settles heavy in his chest. Jeongin’s gentle admission brings with it a warm, tingly feeling.

“Seungmin’s good people, he always brings you here.”

“Ah.”

Jeongin feels strangely detached at the moment, far removed from the rising steam of their bath. His sensations are a bit muddled, and despite being seated warm against Chan, he feels disconnected; not from Chan himself, but from everything else beyond their doors.

The hand that holds Jeongin close is hesitant at first, perhaps sensing Jeongin’s restless mood, but Chan must understand something that Jeongin doesn’t know himself, because Chan gently presses into Jeongin’s thigh to ground him, slowly rubbing circles into the curve of his hip, and while it’s not enough to fully bring Jeongin back to a more familiar headspace, it’s enough for Jeongin to be able to open his mouth again.

“I didn’t want to be with them, I tried to find you.”

Chan’s hum is low against the base of Jeongin’s neck. “I wasn’t at the party baby, Seungmin and Hyunjin were with you tonight.”

“They didn’t want me there.”

“Sunshine.”

With an undertone of exasperation that isn’t without an ever-present fondness, Chan’s endearment washes over Jeongin like a steady tide, and Jeongin slides further down Chan’s chest, just enough for the other to lean his chin forward on Jeongin’s collar, effectively cocooning Jeongin in a rather humid embrace.

“They never liked me, not like you do. No one wants me like you do.” Jeongin’s voice is far away, and Chan bites back an immediate _‘I don’t just like you, you idiot. I’m in love with you’_. Chan inhales slowly, and watches as Jeongin props up a knee in the tub, only for it to slide down with incoordination.

“Seungmin made sure you were safe, and Hyunjin was the one who called me, they were only trying to look out for you. _Of course_ they like you.”

Chan trails the last of his words against Jeongin’s skin, much like a secret between the two of them, but Jeongin isn’t feeling particularly merciful in letting things simply _just be_ , and fights back against Chan’s reasoning.

“They hang out with me for my _fucking good_ weed, I’m not stupid.”

“You know that’s not true, you never even share.” Chan hasn’t raised his voice at Jeongin’s weird half-prideful yet half-depreciating statement, and barely even shifts from where they’re still seated on the cold floor of their tub. If Chan is uncomfortable from where his back is harshly pressed against the jut of white ceramic, he says nothing, and simply presses a soft kiss to the constellation of freckles dotting Jeongin’s shoulders.

Jeongin’s momentarily distracted by the floating bubbles of soap by his knee, reaching a hand out to delicately pop one that’s come to rest against his skin, and has got nothing to add to his argument; he’s tired and hazy, and thinks he might just end up crying with the undercurrent of emotions that threaten to spill from his chest to the bridge of his nose—the feeling of being unwanted from friends who Jeongin isn’t sure can be called _friends_ ; the live-wire static of guilt Jeongin feels when he has this same conversation with Chan despite the other insisting that Jeongin is allowed a space to compartmentalize his thoughts; a brazen love so steadfast for Chan that Jeongin often feels swept up by even the smallest gesture of affection.

“I think I’m going to bed, I’m a little tired.” Jeongin tries to soften his tone.

He’s not mad at Chan, not even in the slightest, but Chan’s bed promises a warmth that a now-lukewarm bath cannot, and Chan nods against his skin, peppering kisses to the base of his spine, slowly thumbing down every ridge, finally moving enough for Jeongin to unsteadily rise and draw the curtains aside to grab a towel.

“Let me drain the tub, I’ll be out in a moment. Keep warm for me.”

“I’ll miss you.” Jeongin leans forward to press his lips against Chan’s forehead, slightly chapped and butterfly-light, and Chan’s eyes slip closed in contentment.

“Hush, you’ll see me in ten.”

Jeongin leaves the steam of the bathroom behind for the slight chill of Chan’s bedroom, but it’s nothing that an oversized shirt and Chan’s comforter and bedspread can’t fix. He lays down, knee dangling off the end and arm splayed out for his head to rest on. Chan’s worm hoodie is just at the corner of his eye, and Jeongin drags it closer, pressing it against his cheek and sighing. He’s restless, fingers tangled in the frayed edges of Chan’s small throw blanket, and adjusts slightly uncomfortably, leaning more on the ridge of his hips, hand pressing against the inner of his thigh in slight frustration. Jeongin _tsks_ , slightly annoyed, and his arms lock as he carefully avoids pressing his hips fully down on Chan’s bed.

Jeongin instead rolls over on his back and groans low, cheek pressed against the warmth of Chan’s hoodie, breathing in subtle aftershave and a hint of what might be peppermint toothpaste. He’d left the bath only half-hard and far too lazy to do anything about it—head suspiciously not pounding, but he _had_ stopped drinking a few hours prior—but Chan’s obnoxiously floral pillow is no less than a foot from his ankles, and Jeongin makes a split second decision.

He probably should feel bad, but he really, _really_ doesn’t.

He leans over slowly, bringing the pillow up with the heel of his foot, nudging it closer to his hips and experimentally rolling properly on his stomach to press against the firm bedding to—

Oh, _fuck_.

Jeongin recognizes in hindsight that he had been more riled up than he thought, because suddenly the idea of getting off with just Chan’s pillow between the spread of his thighs was beginning to sound like the best idea he’s had in a while.

Things get a bit hazy after that.

He’s not so much riding the pillow as he is twisting his hips against the grainy material of the cloth covering, gripping the frame of Chan’s bed tightly as his breath hitches with every slow drag of friction filling him out, smearing pre-cum across the pale yellow sunflower design. If he angles himself just right, there’s a rough burn that trails down the sensitive curve of his hip, and he chases this feeling with every press after press.

His tongue is heavy as he opens his mouth to gasp roughly as the pillow corner catches the underside of his dick, pressing flat against the base, the now-damp material doing wonders for the bundle of heat building in the low of his hips. Frustration bubbles up his throat as he searches for a switch in angle, a change in pressure, really _anything_ that would bring him close enough to just lay sated against the sheets.

He clenches his thighs tight, shoving the pillow _just so_ against the soft press of his stomach, hiking one knee up and slipping down with the other, bucking harshly until his thoughts are so jumbled that he barely realizes he’s been verbalizing a string of curses, harsh and unfiltered into the plush of Chan’s throw blanket, legs shaking and arms shaking _worse_ , hand reaching down to gently thumb his slit, a stark contrast to the rough grind of his hips downwards, pulling his hips taut and body tighter, working up to—

Jeongin stutters out a low _fuck_ as he comes, wordless and pitched to the back of his throat, shaking in aftershocks against the now-coated blanket. The pillow had been pushed aside a moment before, but Jeongin glances briefly at the cum splattered on Chan’s dark blue blanket, chest heaving as he slumps forward, muscles aching but no less soothed, and Jeongin mindlessly trails his fingertips against Chan’s bedding.

His cheekbones are flushed to an empty room, rosy red trailing to the tips of his ears, and doesn’t think about Chan’s expression when he finally leaves the bathtub. He knows he’ll see it soon enough.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

Jeongin hears the soft _click_ of Chan closing the door before he sees him, and waits for any reaction, but it takes Chan a few moments. The other is busy drying his hair, rubbing a towel into his roots rather harshly, low hanging jeans slung around his waist despite it nearing a time that sleep would be acceptable.

Jeongin grins and closes his eyes, noting the fault in Chan’s steps as he nears Jeongin, taking in the sharp inhale as Chan draws closer, and Jeongin _knows_ he looks good. He’s all fucked out and pretty against Chan’s crumpled sheets, chest rising with every breath that Jeongin takes, slowly coming down from a high.

The bed dips beside him, and Chan gives a low exhale, curling his hold around Jeongin’s wrist, bringing it gently to the press of his mouth.

“I take it you missed me?”

Jeongin lazily shrugs, and gently brings Chan fully down on the bed, cum drying just to the left of their intertwined hands. He lifts his head to meet Chan, eyes dark and lashes darker, casting shadows down his cheekbones from where the window filters barely any light into their shared space.

“You were taking too long, you know how it goes.” Jeongin’s deliberately teasing, and Chan plays along.

“My pillow was a worthy substitute? Honestly, I think I should be hurt.”

“Stop feeling things and just come here.” Jeongin rolls his lip between his teeth, leaning forward to blow gently against Chan’s lashes, but Chan’s plaint, drowsy from the heat of his bath, lazy in coordination, and Jeongin goes to press Chan’s stomach, to dig his nails into the dip of Chan’s hip bones, and remembers that Chan decided to wear _jeans_ to bed.

Jeongin recognizes a challenge when he sees one. He pulls Chan forward, guiding him in between the space of his thighs, and leaves a hand ruffling Chan’s hair, carding through Chan’s slightly frayed blonde, tugging gently as he makes his way down to the nape of his neck. Chan swallows hard but allows himself to settle where Jeongin’s drawn him, a casual piece against the backdrop of his own room.

It’s a slow, mindless drag of nails down Chan’s thigh, but no sooner than Chan drifts off again, Jeongin notes the way Chan’s shoulders relax above his hold, and he tugs Chan down to fall against his chest _hard_ , nearly knocking the wind out of them both. His legs immediately hook onto the under of Chan’s calves, and Jeongin watches as Chan’s lashes flutter open, more awake than before but still hazy.

Jeongin’s gentle with his touch, but Chan’s eyes are widening with every drag of fingernail, tracking every press of Jeongin’s other hand up the seam of Chan’s jeans, trailing his thigh and kneading into his skin. Chan’s breath catches each time Jeongin’s fingers trail far too close to Chan’s inseam, tapping and rolling his knuckles over Chan’s bulge with no purpose, watching as Chan bites his lip to remain quiet. Jeongin takes it all in with a lazy grin.

“This was easier than expected, I thought you were falling asleep on me.”

Chan stares back at him, “I am.”

“Then what’s this?” Chan flushes from the burn of his jeans, the material being pressed against the outline of his length uncomfortably, and Jeongin’s thumb is doing nothing to lessen the friction of material as he slowly strokes Chan, more slowly than Chan’s able to handle.

“I want these off, “ Jeongin concludes smartly, and Chan huffs a laugh despite himself.

“You’re beyond spoiled.”

“Just like _that_ , talk dirty to me.”

Chan’s gentle whack against his shoulder leaves Jeongin tucking his cheek against Chan’s collar, a breathless laugh again the sensitive stretch of skin, still reddened from the heat of Chan’s shower, which Jeongin soon finds true for the expanse of Chan’s chest, down to the trail of his stomach, pressing into the muscle of his thighs. Chan’s far too pale for his own good, and Jeongin revels in the contrast of purple bruises he can leave against Chan’s skin.

Visible and intentioned. Jeongin sears his marks into Chan’s skin with purpose, and Chan often lets him, but Jeongin leaves that for another night.

Chan’s jeans cling to his thighs as Jeongin watches him slide them down, tangling at his ankles once or twice, but Jeongin’s patient, still nosed against his neck, kisses pressed into the base of Chan's shoulder. Chan slides back to Jeongin, slotting nicely between Jeongin’s open legs, and eases himself against the heat of their stomachs, both maneuvering slightly as Jeongin’s adjusts Chan into the curve of his hip.

It’s intimate, how Chan’s too-warm chest sizes against Jeongin’s smaller frame, how Jeongin is free to follow along the ridges of Chan’s spine as Chan melts into him, letting out a low sigh as Jeongin rolls his hips once, twice against Chan’s boxer fronts, watching the minimal change in Chan’s almost too comfortable half-lid gaze, his ear pressed just above Jeongin’s heartbeat.

No matter how needy Chan can get, pliant and gasping Jeongin’s name with every low murmur, writhing beneath him as he watches his cock press in and out of Chan, deeper with every new angle or twist of Chan’s hips, there’s a wonder in nights where Chan is half-asleep with every intention of letting Jeongin fuck him careful and controlled, every slow drag more deserving than the last. It’s that kind of gentle night, and Jeongin’s fingers instead dance at the line of Chan’s band, dipping to thumb against Chan’s base with bare pressure. Chan muffles a sigh, his knee propping up in the bed to allow Jeongin more space to do as he wants, and Jeongin trails lower, hand slightly sticky against Chan, and starts to drag against the underside of his cock, but a hand catches Jeongin’s wrist and Chan gives a quick, “dry, it’s too dry.”

“Where’s the new one- nightstand?”

Chan’s hums an affirmation and Jeongin barely turns, arm bent at an awkward angle but retrieving a small bottle with a patience that only comes during quiet nights. Jeongin eyes the new brand and can’t help the small laugh in the back of his throat as he pours lube between his palms, rubbing slightly to warm it up.

“The new flavor you were talking about was mango?”

Chan gives a shrug, and pushes his hips forward a bit, guiding Jeongin’s hand back, wordlessly curling his fingers with Jeongin’s own and moving them both against his length. Jeongin watches Chan’s expression grow calm, if a little relaxed, and he curls his fingers fully against Chan’s cock, giving it a light squeeze simply for the slight grumble that Chan gives him in turn.

It’s easy from there. Jeongin gently rocks Chan, hips knocking against each other, and Chan hisses and arches slightly, growing a little more demanding with how he drags himself against Jeongin, who is only half-hard but sensitive from before. Jeongin decides it might be time to stop teasing the moment out.

He gently rolls Chan off of him and sits up, hand splayed on Chan’s chest, and guides Chan down until his back hits the bed, hair mussed and cheeks a rosy red, chest rising with every shallow breath. Jeongin reaches past Chan, both their eyes tracking Jeongin’s hold against another of several pillows of Chan’s bed, and Chan raises his hips a bit to allow it to sit comfortably underneath him, knees propped up carefully to allow Jeongin to slide between them. There’s something about Chan so unabashed and _yielding_ that leaves Jeongin wanting to wrap himself in all of Chan’s vulnerable moments.

He’s the only one who gets to see Chan like this, and it's breathtaking.

“Chan-” Jeongin starts, and Chan urges Jeongin closer, his cock sliding against the dip of Chan’s inner thigh, Chan’s own pressed between their stomachs, sticky with lube yet a comfortable heat against the both of them. Jeongin rolls his knuckles against the underside of Chan’s thigh, just against soft skin, and he continues.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to come again honestly, so don’t worry about me.”

Chan raises an eyebrow. “You still want to do this?”

“Obviously.”

It’s enough to watch Chan fall apart. He doesn’t need much more than that right now.

It takes a few minutes, but soon Jeongin thinks he could drown in this view from where he’s got Chan on full display, one finger loosely circling Chan and the other arm propping himself up to find a better angle, but Chan’s body is drawn taunt and rigid, not giving Jeongin space to work with, and Jeongin pulls away to instead press a kiss against Chan’s thigh, urging him to relax. Keeping a hand against the tense muscles of Chan’s hips, he tries again, this time dragging his knuckle along Chan’s skin first as a indication for what’s to come, and _then_ circles his finger, sinking in past one knuckle, slowly working Chan open with more cold lube pressed against his skin. The cold sensation has Chan clenching as Jeongin works past his second knuckle, and Chan hisses.

“Baby, _relax_ , I’ve barely got one in.”

Chan eyes him and huffs, “You don’t think I’m trying?”

Jeongin slides his middle finger against his other, leaning into Chan and urging his legs apart, eyes dark and fixed on Chan’s slight panting. Jeongin hooks Chan's knee under his other arm and watches as the slight burn of Chan’s angle has him tipping his head back, his muscles tensing under Jeongin’s hold, eyelashes fluttering as Jeongin stretches him slowly, twisting his fingers until Chan is curling into himself, heel digging harshly into the sheets.

Chan knows he should be used to this, but it’s always a startling difference with having three of Jeongin’s fingers stretching him, larger than his despite the size of their respective frames, punctuated with how Jeongin always reaches farther than Chan can imagine on his own. When Jeongin gives a final scissor with his fingers, Chan hikes several inches up on the bed, gasping as Jeongin startles and none-so gently slips from him. Chan swears he can feel sensation down to his toes.

“Okay?” Jeongin whispers against his skin, curling a hand around Chan’s hips, working the other between them to slick himself with cold lube, forgetting to warm it between his fingers.

“M’ fine.” Chan answers shortly, eyes far away and hazed with clouds.

Jeongin saves Chan his coherency and instead tips his hips to fit against Chan’s, cock tucked snugly against the cleft of Chan’s ass, lube smearing alongside the rise of muscle, and slowly grinds against Chan, not bothering to press inside and instead rock gently against his boyfriend, watching as Chan grows more desperate with every deliberate roll.

“ _Innie_ , enough.” Chan tries, but Jeongin’s already angling himself properly, sinking his tip slowly into Chan, watching as Chan’s eyes widen and flutter closed, his back arching as he takes Jeongin’s hand to intertwine with his own. Jeongin’s careful, watching every whine and wince that Chan gives as permission to keep going, pausing to carefully lean down and press a kiss on Chan’s brow, damp with sweat.

It’s a wonder how slowly Chan takes him every time, bodies rocking gently together as Jeongin works to find an angle that soothes the burn for a moment, but Chan is nothing but an overachiever, and the coil low in his stomach makes him impatient.

Chan curls his toes and hooks his knee against the solid of Jeongin’s hip, pressing the top of his foot just under Jeongin’s calves, and tugs _hard._ Jeongin’s fingers sink accidental indents into the soft skin of Chan’s thighs, and he doesn’t get to gently ease half of himself into Chan as he instead collapses without any grace, pushing in fully against Chan’s ass, his groan deep in his throat. Chan’s feet scrabble against Jeongin’s ankles as Jeongin takes a moment to _breathe,_ the wind knocked from his chest with Chan’s sudden movements, and he feels arousal coil tight in his stomach, curling hot into his skin with every slight jerk of Chan’s hips.

“You just don’t know how to be patient, do you?” Jeongin growls into Chan’s ear, but the effect is lost with how lust-blown Chan’s eyes are, simmering with impatience and fondness and everything wonderful, and Jeongin thinks he would give Chan the _world_ if he could.

Chan might have forced his hand for a moment, but Jeongin doesn’t let up so easily; if he’s going to watch Chan fall apart, it’ll be from Jeongin’s _own_ doing.

He fucks Chan slowly, sliding his cock out with a slow drag only to thrust back in, bucking his hips into the soft of Chan’s ass, and watches as Chan shudders and follows Jeongin’s motions wildly with his eyes, tightening and clenching around Jeongin with every sensation that leaves him breathless, air punctured from his lungs with every new grind of Jeongin’s hips.

Jeongin wraps his arms around Chan’s waist as he shifts Chan’s hips higher, groaning with the new angle that sinks Chan tighter around him, hands scrabbling against his back, threatening to leave marks with how frantically Chan’s digging his nails into Jeongin’s shoulder blade.

Chan’s muttering something into his shoulder as Jeongin presses Chan against his chest, no longer thrusting into Chan and and just rocking against the other as Chan folds into his lap, knees buckled in an angle that couldn’t be comfortable, but of which wouldn’t be apparent until the morning.

He’s screwing his hips into Chan’s with a pressure that can only be _painful_ , and Chan’s breathe stutters against his neck, and suddenly Jeongin’s aware of Chan’s repeated _kiss me, kiss me, fuck, just_ —

It’s less than eloquent, but Jeongin’s insistently presses against the plush of Chan’s mouth blindly, nipping at his lip with incoordination as Chan shakes in his hold, falling apart slowly and all at once as Jeongin swallows his moans between them both, tracing his lower lip and sucking harshly enough to bruise, and Chan follows his movements bindly, his hand coming to tug harshly at Jeongin’s hair, his own kisses faltering with every bounce against Jeongin’s thighs.

“I need, shit, I think I—” Chan stutters, but Jeongin’s already gathered the fragments of his words, and drives his hips forward with a grunt, leaning to scrape his teeth against Chan’s collar, latching on simultaneously as a litany of _god, you’re so good, you’re always so fucking good for me_ and Chan unravels between Jeongin’s arms, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood as his head tips forward to knock against Jeongin’s chest, hips tightening and spasming as he comes across Jeongin’s stomach, dripping wet down Jeongin’s thighs as Chan’s clenching becomes unbearable around Jeongin’s pulsing cock.

Chan comes back grounded after a few moments, heaving against Jeongin’s ear, the last of the aftershocks still leaving Jeongin wound up but no closer to orgasm, and Chan whines and kneads Jeongin’s knee, panting out a quiet, “Let me get you off?”

Jeongin presses his palm against Chan’s cheek and kisses him soft and languid, grinning against Chan’s lips as he halts the conversation, but Chan knows his antics and pulls back to look Jeongin in the eye.

“At least let me blow you.”

“Nah.”

“ _Jeongin._ ”

Threading his fingers carefully through Chan’s sweat-soaked hair, Jeongin grazes through blonde strands and kisses the tip of Chan’s nose. “I have one request.”

Chan hums, eyes slipping closed. “Anything.”

Warmth flutters through Jeongin’s chest at Chan’s quiet affirmation. How easy it was for Chan to love Jeongin so effortlessly, and how selfish and thankful it made Jeongin feel all at once.

Jeongin gently jostles Chan, still hard and deep in his boyfriend.

“Can we sleep like this?”

Chan’s eyes remain closed, “We have to clean up, I just showered too.”

“Not until I get my answer.”

“I’ll wake up sore, or with you fucking me into the mattress at three in the morning.”

Jeongin grins, eyes flashing with promise. “I see nothing wrong with that.”

“Let's _c_ _lean up_ , and then talk to me.”

“If I slip out tonight, I expect you to take responsibility.”

“God, you’re an idiot,” Chan affectionately bumps Jeongin’s cheek against his, Jeongin going a little cross-eyed in the process with Chan scrunching his nose cutely at Jeongin’s rapid blinking, “I’m in love with you.”

Jeongin knows. He’s always known.

✰

Two years ago—but with their entire lifetimes weaving into that moment—Jeongin confessed on a cold, windy Tuesday.

He didn’t know what reaction he was expecting, but he received one that mostly followed the scripted scene in his head, one he’d been playing out like clockwork. Chan’s scarf was up to his chin, bundled tight into a soft sweater that Jeongin had bought him the Christmas before, and his cheekbones were burned a rosy red from the biting frost of December.

It would have been near comical—given that Chan’s eyes were two sizes too wide, his cherry-red tongue peaking out from between his lips where his mouth hung slightly open, his entire frozen slushie forgotten useless in his grip—but Jeongin’s heart was far too quick, thudding low behind his ribs, and strumming tension nervously right to the tips of his fingers.

Jeongin had inhaled slowly, pressing against his wrist, thumbing the pulse that’s slowly grew more frantic, but Felix’s voice was in some deep corner of his psyche, reminding him that no matter what, this was _Chan_ , the closest thing Jeongin's ever had to a ‘forever friend’.

He was the same Chan that had met him on the playground as children, cautiously approaching a crying Jeongin who was seated on an old swing set, sniffling into the rusted metal bars that kept him upright. A half-melted grape popsicle was gently brought to his attention, and Jeongin had looked up into the glassy eyes of a then-Chan, who seemed to be crying _for_ Jeongin, even if they were strangers. Jeongin didn’t have the clearest concept of empathy as a child, but he knew that Chan made him feel _seen_ , and that was enough.

The very Chan who held him by the light of a single lampshade, with sky nearing the early hours of morning on the sunrise of Jeongin’s first heartbreak. _He was an asshole who didn’t deserve you_ , Chan had spelled into his skin with the press of fingertips into his shoulder as Jeongin remained silent for most of the night, eyes burning but refusing to spill tears. Jeongin was beautiful, features delicate and eyes sharper than glass, but his boyfr—well, ex-boyfriend now he supposed, decided that Jeongin wasn’t worth the long distance relationship, and Chan took all of this explanation in, blinked a few times, and simply motioned to the space beside him on his bed. Chan had hummed him to sleep that night, with Jeongin curled just under his chin, and they never quite broke this habit of comfort. Years later, Jeongin still sneaks into Chan’s room. As Chan blinks sleep from his eyes and adjusts to another warm body beside him, Jeongin melts against Chan, fitting against him like a jagged puzzle.

It didn't stop there.

In college, Chan was right by his side for Jeongin’s first hangover, even holding back Jeongin’s teal blue-dyed hair with an unskilled knot as Jeongin dry heaved into the toilet. It didn’t matter who Jeongin accompanied to that dingy frat-house, because he somehow ended the night with Chan murmuring comforts in his hair as he wished for his stomach to simply disappear from his body. Jeongin woke to a small tucked note under a plate of bagels and a single chocolate-chip muffin.

 _Got something for ya! I’ll be back after class_ ♡.

Jeongin had wrapped himself nicely into a blanket burrito and waited for Chan to bring back lunch.

Later, Chan had promptly ushered Jeongin over to his desk to get started on homework, a familiar smile and a gentle touch to match. It’s was an excruciating ten minutes during which Jeongin watched Chan’s tongue roll around the closed point of his pen as he tipped his head back to think up to the ceiling. Jeongin’s own unfinished finance assignment glared back at him, and he hastily averted his eyes, willing his mind to stop racing at several miles per hour.

He didn't dare glance back at the bed, keeping his knees propped up on his own swivel chair, elbows a mere inch from Chan’s resting shoulder, and wished Chan would look over, even _once_. He didn't know what he wanted exactly in that moment, but there’s something to be said about craving Chan’s undivided attention—in between classes for a quick coffee trade off and fleeting half-hug, between buttered popcorn and movie nights where Chan inevitably curls into Jeongin’s side, when they’re with a group of friends but Jeongin’s attention ultimately zones into one person—and he wasn’t stupid; he knew what this all means.

Jeongin thinks he knew early on that Chan might be his forever, and it’s as beautiful as it is terrifying.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you as always to the lit enthusiasts chat for allowing me to script and share ideas, love you all sm sm sm
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/izayashu)


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